


See

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [14]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll never be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this with Kurt's 'Daydream Believer' outfit sitting right next to me. Talk about motivation.

He just needs a plan.

A game plan. A strategy.

He realizes most kids don’t have to create an elaborate setup in order to survive a dinner with their dad, but he does, and if he doesn’t, he’s screwed. Christmas was easy, even without Cooper, because there were cousins and his grandparents and the general chaos of the holidays distracting him.

Now will be even harder.

Because he’s going with Kurt.

His dad isn’t perfect, but at least he’s accepting, always been accepting. It’s just that the second he knew about Blaine his train of thought changed from _I want my son to succeed_ to _how do I make sure my son succeeds?_ Like Blaine lost the ability to do so on his own.

So he’s not worried about his dad kicking Kurt out, or looking at him with disgust, like he’s wrong for existing.

No, he’s worried because his dad’s got the bar raised high, for everything he does, even how he fucking breathes. Nobody else seems to see Kurt’s worth, not even Kurt. His dad has been critical about every single thing so far, if he decides to continue that streak and dictate who’s good enough for Blaine to love . . .

Fuck him. Just -

How does someone mean so well and fail so goddamn miserably?

That’s probably what drove his mom away, what made Cooper pack up his bags at eighteen and leave to live all the way across the country. But unlike them, he’s at the disadvantage, he has _nowhere_ to go.

So yeah, he’s really fucking nervous. Maybe having Kurt there won’t actually help with anything.

They fought over the phone all morning. Nothing serious, he would never fight with Kurt seriously, but he looked ridiculous, standing in front of his mirror wearing a shirt with buttons on it, done all the way up to his neck, so he had to yell about it.

“I’m not wearing this.”

_“Yes you are.”_

“I look stupid.”

_“No you don’t.”_

“You can’t even see me!”

_“I don’t have to be looking Blaine, I just know.”_

Because while clothes aren’t serious to him, they’re serious to Kurt.

So that’s how he ended up wearing a dress shirt, a shirt with buttons and shit. What’s he going to do with a bunch of buttons?

-

It’s a long drive to Westerville. He can’t believe he’s wasting a whole night at his dad’s when he and Kurt could be doing other things. Burt miraculously agreed to raising the curfew by a few hours, and at first his mind went rampant with ideas of what they could do instead, and just pretend they went to his dad’s, but -

It didn’t feel right. He said he’d go, and he wants to see Cooper, so . . . it’s gonna suck, but he’ll deal with it.

The only fact that’s getting him through all this is that it’s two hours alone with Kurt on the way there, and two hours back. Kurt. Kurt’s all that gets him through.

He tugs at the collar of his shirt as he waits for Kurt, parked outside his house. He’s learned Kurt’s never ready when he says he is, but he still shows up early, just in case. The wait is always worth it.

Today’s no different. He hears the front door to the house open and close, and quickly gets out of the car, walks around it to meet Kurt.

“Hey,” he says, goes to put his hands in his pockets only to find there are none.

“Hi,” Kurt says, stepping right up to him and taking his hands, holding them, like he knows. “You look great, I don’t know what you were on about.”

He looks down at himself, button-up shirt haphazardly tucked into his good pair of jeans, shoes actually tied up for once, and laughs. “Are you kidding? I look crazy, you look amazing.”

A lot better than he looks, that’s for sure. It’s a suit, he thinks, Kurt’s wearing a freaking suit and he’s in _jeans_.

It’s sleek grey, fitted perfectly to Kurt’s arms and shoulders and chest, an intricate pattern stitched into the material and he just wants to run his fingers along it. And then there’s a tie, a little black tie, wrapped tight around his neck, and Blaine can’t stop staring, keeps thinking that if they didn’t make it to his dad’s house that’d be totally fine too.

Looking so . . . _beautiful_ , that Blaine doesn’t want to take him to a place where he might be forced to feel otherwise.

“Too much?” Kurt asks, eyes widening as he glances down.

He swallows, gives his head a shake and swings Kurt’s hand.

“No, never.”

-

Two hours there. Kurt sings for him, along to the radio, so unafraid of looking dumb or sounding bad, not that he could ever really sound bad, not even when he tries. After the first hour he joins in, just a little, when he’s sure Kurt’s not really listening. He figures if he’s willing to be naked with a person then he can probably sing a little in front of them.

It’s dark when they get there, a little past six, the house looking even more menacing than it usually does, just sitting there with a few lights on. They stay in the car for five minutes, maybe more, in that comfortable silence as Blaine taps a song away at the wheel, jiggles his foot, tries to breathe.

“You know what?” he suddenly asks, sitting up and looking at Kurt. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”

Kurt nods, not looking like he entirely believes him. “Right.”

“We just have to stay for an hour.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t move, just looks out the windshield at that big empty house and drops his forehead to the wheel, sighs deeply. “My dad - he’s not a bad guy, he just - I just hate his guts.”

“Makes sense,” Kurt says, eyes narrowing, head tilting. “He’s not - wait, he’s okay with you being gay, right?”

“What?” he snaps, jerking upwards, feeling his face contort sharply, looking at Kurt like he’s crazy. “I wouldn’t be taking you into his house if he weren’t. He’s - he’s fine with it. It’s everything else he has a problem with.”

Kurt’s eyes are wide as he nods, smile apologetic, and Blaine quickly reaches over, takes his hand to let him know it’s fine, he’s not mad.

Not enough, he needs more, so he puts his arm around him and pulls him closer, puts his lips everywhere that he can, kisses Kurt over and over _everywhere_ , like he’ll never get to again, because he seriously thinks that this could be it.

“It’s okay to be scared, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, voice close to Blaine’s ear, hand curling into the back of his shirt.

He exhales, rests his head against the side of Kurt’s. “I’m not scared,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to Kurt’s temple. “You’re here.”

They eventually get out of the car, stroll up the driveway arm in arm and stand at the top of the doorsteps. He digs out his keys, puts them into the lock, and thinks one last thought before turning them.

“Kurt, don’t . . . don’t fall in love with my brother.”

Kurt frowns, asks, “Why would I do that?”

He laughs, rough and dry. “Just wait.”

-

Kurt doesn’t listen to him.

Kurt shakes Cooper’s hand for a good twenty to thirty seconds, eyes wide and his mouth hung open, until Cooper just laughs and pulls him into a hug, like they’ve known each other forever.

He’s not jealous, because Kurt is his, but still, he intervenes, slides his way in between them and pushes Cooper back.

“Nice shirt,” Cooper says to Blaine, laughing, ruffling up his hair. “I wonder who picked it out.”

He wonders why he ever misses his brother when he goes away. Cooper’s probably only back in town to ask for money or for some sort of favour, because he never comes home unless it absolutely conveniences him. Smart. Blaine wishes it were that easy.

So Kurt loves Cooper, that’s better than hating him, he figures. Probably should have introduced him to his dad first, get that out of the way, soften the blow with Cooper.

His dad comes out of the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, glasses resting low on his nose, and Blaine tries not to scowl, tries to shrug it off, gives him a brief side-hug and then quickly pulls away.

“I brought my boyfriend,” he says, indicating towards Kurt, who’s found his way back to Cooper.

His dad looks at Kurt, back to Blaine, something dark and confused settling into his expression, and Blaine’s heart stops.

“That’s your boyfriend?” he asks, chuckling lightly. “How on earth did he end up with you?”

That’s not what he expected.

Somehow it’s worse.

-

He’s playing some sort of game. He is never this nice. Never.

Smiling and laughing and making jokes and asking for Kurt’s help with dinner, but Blaine knows it’s all fake, that he’s wearing a mask to cover up how ugly and horrible he actually is. But why?

Something bad is coming. He waits for it, sits at the table anxious with anticipation as Cooper tells them all about his latest role which is ‘totally top secret’, as Kurt sits there with hearts in his eyes and his chin in his hands. He can’t even summon the concentration to be irked by that, too focused on waiting, waiting, for it to all fall apart.

Sooner rather than later his dad’s going to say something, ask a certain question, not like Blaine’s answer and blow up at him. That’s just how it goes, that’s how it always goes, nothing ever stays nice in this house.

He kicks his foot out underneath the table, finds Kurt’s and nudges him, doesn’t like the fact that he’s across from him at the table and not next to him.

Kurt smiles at him, nudges back, but it doesn’t calm his nerves it just breaks them, rips them apart, because Kurt doesn’t get it, he’s falling right into the trap.

“So Blaine,” his dad says, and Blaine goes tense, knows this is it, this is where the mask comes off and everything breaks. “How’d you two meet?”

Blaine looks over to Kurt, scared, because if this is where it all falls apart he doesn’t want Kurt involved in it. “Uh, glee club.”

“Hm.” His dad looks down at his plate, pushes around his food, then murmurs, “That’s why you’re so insistent on staying.”

He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, clenches up his hands and squeezes them tight. “Yup, looks like it.”

“We recently won one of our competitions,” Kurt says, eyes switching from Blaine to his dad. “We get to go to Chicago for our next one.”

He stares at Kurt, confused, until it dawns on him quickly that Kurt’s defending him, trying to back him up, so he nudges Kurt’s foot again, as if to say thank you.

But it won’t help.

His dad looks back up, eyes confused and sharp on Blaine. “You did?”

“Not me,” he says, nodding towards Kurt. “Him. He’s the reason we won, he’s the best singer in that stupid club.”

His dad sets his fork down, sits up a bit straighter and turns his attention towards Kurt, and shit, _shit_ , whatever this is, whatever game his dad is playing Kurt doesn’t belong anywhere in it.

“Let me guess,” his dad starts off dryly, then adds in a clipped laugh. “You want to be a performer.”

Kurt looks down, smiles a little. “It’s my dream.”

He has to stop it, his dad’s not after him right now he’s after _Kurt,_ but why -

“Dad -”

“How do you plan on accomplishing that?” his dad asks, ignoring him. “Cooper didn’t go to school, and had quite a hard time getting his foot in the door. Do you plan on going?”

He shoots Kurt another look, letting him know that he doesn’t have to answer, doesn’t have to give in to him, but Kurt doesn’t look back.

“Well, yes, I’m a finalist for one of the top performing schools in New York,” Kurt says, sounding brave, strong, holding himself high. “If I do get in, then that’s my foot in the door, I guess. After that, I’ll just have to find a way to push it open.”

“New York? That’s pretty impressive,” his dad says, whistling, but his smile is so forced and so fake that Blaine wants to throw a fork at him. “There’s going to be a lot of other students, I imagine. Students just like you.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and smiles, looking uneasy. “I realize.”

“The success rate must be understandably low. Cooper, how long was it until you finally got a role?”

And Cooper, who’s never once looked weak in front of Blaine, suddenly looks blindsided, caught completely off-guard.

“Uh, a few months,” he says, slowly, mouth staying open as he looks to Blaine, to Kurt, then his dad. “But Kurt’s fairly good looking, much like myself, so he shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Hm.”

Kurt finally looks at Blaine, for one brief second, blue eyes wide and cold.

“I already know it’s near impossible to make it,” Kurt says, lifting his shoulders up and back, voice suddenly clear. “But if I don’t at least try, isn’t that worse than failing?”

His dad laughs and nods. “You’ll either have to be extremely talented or extremely ambitious.”

And that’s it, he can’t. He can’t tell if his dad’s agreeing with Kurt or mocking him, and he won’t let anybody hurt him, not if he can help it.

Slamming his hand down on the table, causing all the cutlery and plates to clink and clatter, he looks at his dad and says loudly, voice dark, “He _is_ extremely talented. Can you just drop it already?”

Kurt holds himself up carefully, eyes flashing to Blaine, then to Blaine’s dad, and holds his gaze, doesn’t even flinch or look scared. “I’ve already had this discussion with my own dad,” he says calmly. “He made the same points you’re making, but he believes in me. That’s all I really need.”

Silence immediately follows. Nobody breathes or moves or makes a sound.

His dad stares at Kurt, then slowly begins to nod again. “That’s good. Good you're so motivated. Maybe that’ll rub off on Blaine.”

And there’s the point. The prize in this game his dad was playing, using Kurt like a pawn to prove a fucking point to him.

He stills, hands locked into fists, eyes down on the table as he feels something heavy and sharp pierce through his chest. With Kurt right across from him he knows he should take a moment, take a breather, let it go and get over it.

Can’t scare Kurt, can’t upset him, can’t blow up when he’s right there watching -

But his dad is watching him too, expectantly, like he’s just waiting for Blaine to say something, like he’s purposely trying to anger him.

“Kinda hard to be motivated when everything I do isn’t good enough for you,” he mutters, picks up his fork and starts fiddling with it, eyes still cast down.

Cooper nudges him with his elbow, discreet underneath the table, but says nothing.

After another moment of silence, his dad sighs heavily and shakes his head. “It’s not about that, Blaine. We do nothing but support you.”

Then Cooper starts laughing, nervously, sounding completely unlike himself as he leans back in his chair and smiles at Kurt. “So, Kurt, why don’t we -”

“Don’t interrupt, Cooper,” his dad says harshly, eyes still locked on Blaine. “Blaine -”

He’s too mad to care, knows in the back of his mind that he should just grab Kurt’s hand and leave, but he’s too mad, his dad is just sitting there lying to him, in front of his boyfriend, making him look bad, making him _feel_ bad.

“Support me?” he spits, finally raising his head to glare up at his dad. “Sending me off to the school’s guidance counsellor isn’t supporting me. Yelling at me whenever I get a bad grade or miss a day of class isn’t supporting me. What do you know about support?”

His dad shouts back, just as angry, “We don’t know how else to help you, Blaine! Don’t get mad at us for trying, there is nothing wrong with wanting your son to succeed.”

“That’s a load of shit! Anything I want to do, you’re already there telling me it’s not good enough. How am I supposed to even try when I already know you’re not gonna approve?” His voice cuts out, breath shaking out of him, hand trembling on the table. “If you want to help me then stop setting me up to fail.”

“We’re not - we’re your parents, Blaine, that’s not what we’re trying to do. We’re here to help make sure that you _don’t_ fail,” his dad shouts, his loud voice not matching his small frame, his tired face. “I don’t care what it is you end up doing, whether it be a doctor or a dancer. As long as you _make it_.”

He looks at his brother, who sits next to him staring down at his lap, a grown adult now looking like a child, and he wonders for a second why he isn’t defending him, why he isn’t a part of this.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize why.

This just isn’t a fight either of them will ever win.

Shaking his head, he pushes away from the table, shoves it so hard the dishes rattle.

“I can’t. You and mom are always right there, telling me to do better, to try harder, no matter what I do.”

He stands up, finally looks at Kurt, who sits in his chair with his spine straight, shoulders locked defensively, eyes wide and scared as he meets Blaine’s.

“Blaine, sit down,” his dad says, ordering him around like he’s still that ten year old kid who had to do everything he said, but screw that, if he can’t win this fight then he’s not going to stay in it.

“I’m never going to be enough,” he says, and he _hates_ himself, words twisting painfully in his throat. “What’s the point?”

Cooper suddenly turns to him, something like fear in his eyes, hand reaching out to grab Blaine’s arm as he murmurs lowly, “Blaine, you gotta stay -”

He rips his arm away, glares at his dad and then at Cooper. “I don’t know why you ever come back here.”

His dad calls his name again, but once he turns around he swears to himself that he’ll never look back again, quickly leaving the table, the dining room, marching down the hall and grabbing his jacket, not sure if the footsteps following him are his dad’s or Cooper’s or -

Kurt’s.

“Blaine!” And it’s Kurt’s voice, so familiar, even through the panic, footsteps getting louder and quicker. “Blaine, wait -”

He bursts through the front door, nighttime air stinging his face, his eyes wet and burning. His throat feels tight, he can’t breathe in or out or else he’ll break, cry, and he won’t fucking cry, not because of his dad, never.

“Blaine.”

Gravel crunches underneath his feet as he makes his way down the driveway, but his footsteps don’t slow until he’s at his car, smacking his fist against the top of it, leaning against the door and finally exhaling, heavy and loud.

He feels Kurt right behind him, but can’t turn to face him, not yet, his eyes are still stinging and his heart is racing too quickly. He tries to breathe, but he can’t do that without choking up, letting out the most pathetic sound, hanging his head and hating himself.

“Kurt, I - I’m sorry -”

Hands fold over his shoulders, tugging him back, prompting him to turn around, and he’s too weak to fight him off, doesn’t really want to, so he turns and looks at Kurt. There’s a bruise over his heart, hurts when it beats, but he looks at Kurt and he doesn’t really feel the pain, doesn’t even register it.

“Don’t listen to him,” Kurt says, his voice sounding scratchy, angry, sad. “Don’t - don’t - not him, okay?”

He shakes his head and swipes at his eyes, says too quickly, “I don’t even know what I - Kurt, I - _fuck_.”

Never in his life has he felt so confused, broken, like his dad smashed him into pieces and then scattered them.

And he did it right in front of Kurt.

Shining two lights directly on him, one showing him everything he will never be and another showing him everything he shouldn’t have but everything he needs.

What does he fucking need? He needs he doesn’t know he needs -

“He’s not wrong, Kurt,” he gets out, panting and gasping up at the sky, still feeling like he’s burning from the inside out. “I’m - I don’t try I don’t - I don’t even know how - I’m not good enough -”

Kurt touches him again, takes his hand and pulls on it so hard that Blaine looks down at them, watches as Kurt desperately tries to get him to hold back.

“Stop it. Please - please stop saying that, Blaine,” Kurt says, begging him, and god, he’s crying, he’s _crying_. “You’re so much more than that. You’re everything, Blaine, he just doesn’t know how to see it -”

He bites his trembling lip and threads his fingers through Kurt’s tightly, afraid he’ll slip away.

“I don’t -”

“He doesn’t know you, Blaine, he doesn’t know what you need or what you’re capable of.”

“I don’t even -” He coughs, voice sounding wet and strangled, takes another desperate inhale and slowly lets it out. “I don’t even know what I need.”

Pulse beginning to settle, he looks over at the house, suddenly looking like a prison, then looks back to Kurt, the only bright thing, looking so helpless and lost but still there. Still standing in front of Blaine and holding his hand, and not even his dad can take that away.

“Please, Blaine?”

He shuts his eyes, wets his lips and focuses on the feeling of Kurt’s hand in his, Kurt’s voice saying his name. “Please what?”

“See what I see?”

And Kurt can see everything.

He looks up and Kurt’s right there, face in front of his face, and when his lips are on his he forgets about everything, all the bad things, all the bad voices and the bad people and the bad feelings.

Kurt kisses him more insistently, pushing him back against the car and pressing his body right against Blaine’s, warm and close and everything right.

“I can’t,” he whispers, slips it in between kisses, but his hands betray him, his hands latch onto Kurt’s shirt and pull him even closer. “I’m - I’m not -”

Kurt keeps kissing him, wrapping one arm around his neck, one arm around his waist, pressing so close to him that there’s no more cold air, just warmth, just Kurt.

He’s so good and so beautiful and so warm that Blaine feels wrong for touching him, for kissing him, but he still wants it, still chases it, because what he needs is to be good and to be enough and he only ever feels like that when he’s with Kurt.

Trying is always worth it when it’s with Kurt.

Kurt breaks away, leans his forehead against Blaine’s and breathes heavily, licks over his lips and says, “Whatever you need, Blaine.”

He squints his eyes, confused, shaking his head against Kurt’s. “What -”

Kurt takes one arm off of him, wraps it around one of the hands Blaine has tangled in his shirt, and guides it until Blaine’s holding the side of his hip.

“Whatever you need.”

He doesn’t know what he needs. All he knows is that he can find it with Kurt.

It was just a couple days ago that Kurt was asking him to wait, just a couple days ago he was saying he would. He forgets why he ever agreed to that when Kurt pulls at him so desperately, when they’re in the back of the car and he’s on top of Kurt, when Kurt’s hands go up underneath his shirt and travel along the expanse of his back.

He had no idea before this, before Kurt, that you could say words without ever actually opening your mouth. That you can say how much you need someone and how much you love someone with the tips of your fingers, your lips, even your eyes, because when he looks at Kurt his whole heart kinda stops, and Kurt smiles, like he understands whatever Blaine is silently saying, and that he’s saying it right back.

It doesn’t take long at all to get hard, to feel that excitement that extinguishes everything else, noisily and frantically rutting over Kurt’s thigh, kissing at his neck and gasping every time Kurt’s fingernails pinch at his skin.

But he still hears that voice in his head, the voice of a monster that he so badly wants to be free from, whispering in his ear until it grows into a scream.

He pulls back, stops moving his hips and stills himself, takes several long breaths as he stares down at Kurt.

Not here, not like this, _no_. Kurt is worth it, he’s worth waiting for and worth trying for and as much as he needs him, he won’t do this to him. Just because he isn’t doesn’t change the fact that Kurt _is_.

“No, Kurt -” it hurts him to say it, voice heavy and slow.

Kurt’s tired eyes fly open, wide as he searches Blaine’s face. “What - did I do - did I do something wrong?”

“Not like this,” he says, struggling to pull away from Kurt, struggling to ignore just how hard he is and how much he really does want Kurt. “We’re still in the fucking driveway.”

Kurt sits up and adjusts himself, tugging his suit jacket back up his shoulders, shaking out his head and lifting his chin, huffs, “I’m sorry for trying to make you feel better.”

And Kurt -

Shit.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulls him closer so that he can fit his chin over his shoulder, can wrap both arms around his chest.

You can say a lot of things with touches, with looks, but the meaning of things can still get lost.

He really does love Kurt. If this is Kurt’s way of showing him _he_ means something, that he’s worth it too, then he won’t take that for granted, no, but he won’t make him do it.

“You don’t really want to do this, that’s okay,” he whispers, digs his fingers into the back of Kurt’s jacket, feels the texture of the embroidery under his hands. “But - thank you.”

Kurt clings back to him, nodding his head against Blaine’s, voice shaky as he sniffles, says, “I - I love you, don’t - don’t listen to him.”

He thinks for a second, replays it in his mind, that that’s the first time Kurt’s ever said it back to him.

He’ll never need anything else.

“I won’t.”

Their next kiss is slow, even though he can hear his pulse, even though he can feel Kurt’s racing heart. It’s slow and it’s everything that words can and can’t say and it’s all he’ll ever fucking need, forget everything else, forget fear and forget the monster in the house behind them.

Kurt’s the one thing he shouldn’t have but he’s the one thing that nobody can take away from him. Nobody can tell him he’s not trying hard enough when it comes to Kurt, because for Kurt, he’ll do anything.

That’s enough.

“I just need you.”

**Author's Note:**

> edit: if you wanted to know more about Kurt's outfit I wrote a post [here](http://chorusofstars.tumblr.com/post/137372380231/hi-friends-so-while-i-wasnt-able-to-buy-anything)!!


End file.
